Strange Ways
by TheCanadianConspiracy
Summary: Matt just wants to be noticed at school; Gil just wants a date. Throw in a scheming Hungarian and an overprotective older brother and is it any wonder that things never seem to go right? Many pairings, eventual PruCan, Spamano, GerIta. Yaoi
1. Prologue: Beginnings

**Prologue: Beginnings**

Matthew Williams was determined to get noticed this year.

It was his first day of grade eleven, and he felt there couldn't be a better time for a change. Yesterday, the last day of summer vacation, his older brother Alfred had confided in him his intention to run for Student President – and win. Matt had no doubt that his brother would succeed, and for that reason he knew he could not remain the bland, invisible Canadian any longer – it was either catch up or get left behind.

"Hey!" A familiar voice snapped Matthew out of his musings. He turned around to find his Polish friend, Feliks, running to him through the crowded foyer. "Hey, Matt! Like, long time, no see!"

The two blonds hugged. Feliks was one of the few who always seemed to notice him, although the Canadian hadn't seen him nearly all summer. "Hey, what's up?"

"Not much," Feliks said, fishing a pack of gum from his purse and popping a stick in his mouth. "Have you, like, found out whose homeroom we're in this year?"

Matt shook his head. "No, but let's go see, eh?"

They navigated their way through the crowd to reach the homeroom listings, pinned on the wall. Matthew felt his heart skip a beat when he read the name _Gilbert Weillschmidt –_ his crush since ninth grade – above his name; he didn't even bother to check if he was in a class with anyone else he knew. Feliks pouted to see their names filed under different teachers.

"Like, what a bummer," he said. He smacked on his gum and turned back to the Canadian. "Whatever. The assembly should be starting in, like, five minutes. Let's go, OK?"

Matthew nodded, and followed his friend through the school hallways to the auditorium. Secretly, he was glad that he was in a different homeroom than Feliks; not because he disliked him – he liked him well enough – but because of the fact that it might force him to make new friends.

And that might be just what he needed.

* * *

The two boys walked through the rows of seats, trying not to trip over anyone's sneakers. Other students had already begun filing in before them, quickly filling up the chairs. Matthew nearly toppled over after tripping on someone's book bag, and Feliks grabbed his hand, not noticing the embarrassed flush on his cheeks. He led him up the aisle, towards another boy sitting in the top row.

"Like, hey Toris," he said, waving towards the brunet. Toris waved back, and Feliks dropped into a seat on his right, to the left of another student. Matt looked around for a second before taking the chair to Toris' left, one of the few empty seats in the whole top row.

The Polish one began chattering excitedly to Toris, and Matt found he couldn't get a word in edgewise, as much as he wanted. So far, Toris seemed oblivious to his presence. Scanning the room, the Canadian found Ismael climbing up the steps, gripping his book bag with one hand. He waved to him, trying to get his attention.

"Yo, Ismael, over here, eh!"

The Cuban looked up. As soon as he locked eyes with the boy, a fiery expression flashed across his face, and he dropped his bag. He charged up the aisle, heavy boots clomping on the stairs. Matthew squeaked.

"Jones!" he roared, brandishing a fist. "I oughta kill you!"

Matt moved to defend himself, but it was too late. Ismael had punched him in the face. His glasses shattered into his lap, a few pieces dangling off the bent frame. Ismael opened his mouth to say something else, but Feliks had noticed the commotion and beat him to it.

"Oh, that is SO not cool!" he said, glaring at the Cuban. He stood up and swung his purse around. Toris raised an eyebrow at him. "You seriously just punched Matt! Like, oh my gosh!"

"M-Matt?" Ismael's arms fell to his sides as he watched the Canadian gather up the shards of his spectacles. Feliks gave a curt nod and sat back down.

"Duh! Who else would it be!? Now apologize!"

Matthew began to protest, saying that it wasn't necessary, he was used to it, but Ismael cut him off.

"Oh God, I thought you were Alfred, Matt! I'm so sorry. Here, let me help with that . . . " Ismael took the glass fragments out of his hands and walked away, presumably to find a garbage can. After he returned – picking up his book bag on the way – he offered to give the Canadian money to pay for a replacement, but he refused.

_This is why I need to get noticed,_ he thought. _Then I wouldn't get mistaken for my brother . . ._

Ismael dropped into the seat next to him as the principal, Mr. Rome, took the stage. Matthew squinted; everything was so blurry. Well, that didn't matter – he only needed to hear him. The principal shushed the students, beginning his address with his excitable shouted greeting, yelling about how glad he was to see them all again. Matt looked towards the source of the sound, even if he couldn't see him, as every other pair of eyes were trained on the enigmatic teacher – all except one.

Matthew didn't notice the one pair of red eyes looking straight at him.

* * *

Everyone began walking – actually, more like stampeding – out of the auditorium after Mr. Rome finished his lengthy speech. They would all be late to their first class if they didn't hurry. Matthew held on to Feliks' arm as they descended the stairs, trying to avoid death by trampling.

"Are you sure you'll be, like, OK?" Feliks said, leading him down the aisle and out of harm. Toris glanced at the Polish one, looking worried. Was Feliks talking to himself again?

"Yeah, I'll be fine." Matt turned to smile at him, but ended up grinning at the wall instead. "What are you doing after school?"

"Um, Matt?" The trio paused at the foot of the stairs, and Feliks gave Matthew a light tug on the ear. He whipped around to face him blindly. "I'm over here."

"I'm sorry! I just can't – without my glasses – I'm sorry!"

Feliks made a noise of amusement and adjusted his purse straps. "Matt, like, shut up. It's OK. Anywho, after school me an' Liet are - "

"Uh, Feliks?" 'Liet' shifted, studying his friend uncertainly. "Who are you talking to?"

"Matt, duh!" Feliks sighed and flicked the brunet lightly on the nose, smiling through his annoyance. Why was everyone so clueless? "Pay attention!"

"Matt?" Toris looked to his side and finally seemed to notice the boy standing there. His eyes lit up with recognition. "O-oh! Matthew, hi!"

"Hi, Toris," Matthew replied, still holding tight to Feliks' arm and staring off in the wrong direction again.

"Like I was saying," Feliks cut in, flipping his hair over his shoulder. Most of the students had left by now. "Me and Liet are, like, going to see if they're accepting sign-ups for, like, those clubs Sir mentioned, after school. You can totally come with us if you want, it'll be fab, I'm, like, so going in the Fashion Club . . . "

"Actually - " Toris interrupted, staring at his feet. "Feliks, there is no fashion club . . . "

"Well, whatever. I'll just make one. Liet is, like, going in karate or something - "

"Judo," the Lithuanian corrected.

"Right. Well, we'll see when we get there." The bell rang, and the three looked up.

"We'd better get to class," Toris said.

Feliks nodded, and turned back to Matthew. "We'll, like, help you get to class. Right, Liet?" Toris met his eyes and assented, and the Polish one turned back to Matt with a cheeky grin – not like he could see it. "Since you're so helpless without us, seriously. C'mon . . . "

They guided him out of the auditorium, Feliks chattering about skirts and shoes all the way. Matthew didn't think he needed all that assistance – he wasn't _completely_ blind, after all. On the other hand, he didn't want to fall down the stairwell and break his neck on his first day back. Granted, that was one way to get people to notice him, but it wasn't exactly the most preferable method. Before too long, the group had stopped in front of the Canadian's homeroom class, and he was snapped out of his thoughts.

"We'll see you after school, I guess," Toris said, watching as Matthew felt around for the door frame.

"Yeah," Feliks piped up before the Canadian could respond. He swallowed his gum. "And you're so going in the Fashion Club with me, Matt!"

"I dunno about the fashion club, but I'll see you guys later," Matt said, smiling. He walked into the class. "'Bye!"

Clubs – why didn't he think of that before? He could join one or two that interested him and make some new friends. Then people would start recognizing him! It might not work, but it was worth a try. He made his decision as he settled in to an empty seat. Maybe joining one of those clubs – _other_ than Feliks' fashion club – wouldn't be such a bad idea.

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, it's a high school AU. I know, I know, they're so cliche. But I love them. And there can never be too much PruCan either. By the way, Prussia will make an appearance in the next chapter. But I got a feeling people are gonna be angry at what he's gonna do to Mattie . . .

This is totally random, but if there's ever a live-action Hetalia (God forbid) I think Poland should be portrayed by Chris Crocker. WHO'S WITH ME?

Oh, I think I should give some information about the pairings that will be represented in this story. They are: S. Italy/Canada, Prussia/Canada, Spain/Switzerland, Spain/S. Italy, America/Lithuania, Germany/Italy (or is it Italy/Germany?), Ancient Rome/Ancient Greece, and possibly more (minor) ones. As you can see, there is a healthy amount of crack in this story :P

That's it. Please leave your thoughts if you feel so inclined :D Peace!


	2. Talking To Brothers

When the dismissal bell rang several hours later, Feliks, Toris, and Matthew met in the foyer to see if there were any sign-up sheets available. Feliks pouted when Ms. Karpusi, the secretary, informed them that they couldn't join any clubs until Friday, four days away. Mr. Rome was too busy making sure every student took the correct courses for the semester, she said. Matthew just shrugged at the news. He could wait, and besides, without his glasses he wouldn't be able to see where to sign his name anyway. With a flip of his hair, Feliks told Matt and Toris to meet him in the foyer after school on Friday, and the two agreed before going their separate ways.

He arrived home that day feeling fairly optimistic, despite nearly taking the wrong bus. Arthur, his father, wasn't very happy to hear that his glasses had been broken, but Matt was used to it; with his brother around, Arthur was often grumpy.

The week went on smoothly, and Matthew felt his confidence growing. Toris always seemed to notice him now, no longer ignoring him entirely for his brother, and Ismael hadn't beaten him up since Feliks defended him in the auditorium. If things kept going well, he might even have a new friend before Halloween.

* * *

It was too good to last.

As soon as the dismissal bell rang on Friday, he dashed down the corridors – not smacking into any walls because he had new glasses by this time – and raced towards the stairs that would lead him to the foyer. He passed a boys' washroom, but jerked back when a hand grabbed the back of his hoodie. Whipping around, he found Gilbert staring at him, with his brother, Ludwig, standing a few feet away.

"Hey, hey Matt! Want a swirlie?"

Matthew started. The Prussian boy was in his homeroom, but they had never talked before (although Matt had caught him staring at him plenty of times). And now he's asking him if he wants a _what_?

Gilbert took his flabbergasted expression as a sign of assent. "You do? Awesome!" The albino dragged him into the washroom. Matt threw a confused, desperate look at Ludwig, who only averted his eyes. It seemed that a brown-haired boy with an odd curl had captured his attention, shouting and waving to him from across the hall. Matthew felt his hope evaporate.

Inside the washroom, Gilbert shoved the Canadian into a stall and slammed the door shut behind them.

"You're a freshie, right?" he said, taking his glasses. He was just as cute without his glasses, Gil decided, studying him. Matt backed up against the divider, staring at the other in bewilderment.

"W-what? N - "

The Prussian ignored him. "Well, you know the new rule! All freshies have to be initiated! _Kesesese_!" He smirked and grabbed Matt by the cuff of his neck, forcing him towards the toilet bowl.

* * *

Matthew trudged out of the school several minutes later, hair dripping. He had still stopped by the foyer on his way out, but Felix and Toris weren't there. They must have needed to catch their buses. _Buses . . ._ Matt groaned when he looked out onto the parking lot to find the last bus puttering off into the distance. He ran outside, but it was too late; they were long gone. Well, at least Weillschmidt had given him his glasses back, so he wouldn't accidentally walk into the middle of a busy intersection on his way home.

Matt took the long walk home, arriving late – just twenty minutes before supper time. He walked through the door, and Francis, his other father, came out of the kitchen to greet him. He wore an apron and a worried expression.

Matthew kicked off his shoes. "Sorry I'm late, Papa."

The Frenchman quirked an eyebrow at the sight of his son's drenched hair. "Was there a rain-shower on your way home, _Mathieu_?"

"No. It's . . . nothing." The boy sighed and turned to walk away.

"If you say so, _mon canard_," Francis said, shrugging. He went back to the kitchen as Matt climbed the stairs to his room.

Once inside, Matthew shut the door and peeled off his t-shirt and hoodie, both of which had been spotted with toilet water. Just as he slipped on a clean shirt, Alfred burst inside (never one to care for the conventions of privacy) holding a spoon and a bucket of ice cream. He paused in the doorway and shot Matt a curious look.

"Why's your hair all wet?"

Matthew turned to face him while rubbing his hair with his discarded shirt. "Got a swirlie for the first time. Can you close the door, please?" Alfred did so, and went to flop onto his brother's bed, never taking his eyes off him. "To be honest, I was hoping I would never have to experience that by graduation."

The American smiled and pulled back the lid of the ice cream container. "Aw, little Mattie is growing up!"

"Al, I'm only a year younger than you." He paused, still drying his hair, and added, "and besides, I don't think a swirlie means what you think it means."

"Sure it does," Alfred said distractedly, digging his spoon into the treat.

Matthew huffed and rolled his eyes. "Keep telling yourself that. Hey, did you sign up for the Student Council yet?"

"Yup!" Al swallowed his mouthful of ice cream and flashed him a cocksure grin. "Did it today actually. I'll be your President before you know it, Mattie!"

The Canadian tossed his shirt onto the floor, revealing his rumpled mess of a hairstyle. He joined his brother on the bed. "You know how Ivan is in my homeroom, eh? I heard he's running for something too."

Alfred's expression darkened as soon as Ivan's name passed his brother's lips, and he pushed the ice cream away, as if having lost his appetite. Matthew instantly regretted bringing the subject up. He'd forgotten the rivalry between the American and the Russian.

"Sorry . . . I didn't mean - "

"No, that's alright." Al said, turning back to the ice cream again. "Yeah, he's apparently going to try for Vice. Humph. He's doing that just to spite me, you know. Oh well. It's not like that freak'll win anyway . . . "

Matthew scratched his neck. "Yeah, probably . . . "

"Enough about me. How'd you get your hair wet, anyway? Get caught in the rain?"

Matt frowned and wondered why everyone assumed he had been caught in a rain-storm.

"No . . . " he said. A pair of red eyes flashed into his vision, and his stomach did acrobatics. Should he tell him? "It was a guy in my class. A senior."

Alfred dropped the spoon into the container. "Who was it, Mattie? What did they do? Tell me! Tell _me-eeeee_!"

Matthew winced. He hated it when his brother whined. "Al, it doesn't matter - "

"Yes it does!" Alfred had grabbed onto his shoulders by this point, shaking his brother back and forth. "Come oooon!"

"Alright, alright, just stop shaking me!" The Canadian sighed as his brother released him, grabbing the ice cream again and looking as innocent as ever. "It was . . . It was Weillschmidt, OK? Gilbert Weillschmidt."

Alfred frowned, staring off into space in a contemplative manner as he lifted the spoon to his mouth. "Gilbert? Can't say I know him. Want me to beat him up for you anyway?"

Matt shook his head. "No, Al . . . "

"I can do it," the American said, peering into the now half-empty ice cream container. "It's not a big deal, I've done it to Ismael before."

Matthew searched for a reason to persuade his brother from starting a fight with the Prussian, and thought back to their earlier conversation. "I don't think it's a good idea to go around beating people up when you're trying to run for Pres, Al. Might not help your popularity."

"Hmm. True that."

They fell into a companionable silence, Alfred still digging at the ice cream while Matt picked a loose thread on the comforter. For a while all either of them could hear was the scraping of metal against plastic and the sound of pots and pans banging downstairs. Then Matthew snatched the ice cream bucket away from Alfred, and the American let out an indignant squawk.

"Hey!" he said around the spoon in his mouth, reaching for the container. "No hogging my ice cream!"

Matt plucked the spoon away and smirked. He held the bucket out of the other's reach. "_Your_ ice cream? I was the one who bought it!"

"Yeah, well, I claimed it!" Al swiped for the ice cream again, but Matthew ducked away. The American lunged at his brother, knocking them both to the floor in a pile of shouts and laughter. Luckily, Matt held the ice cream away from his body, so it didn't get smashed on his clean shirt. Al was about to resort to desperate measures to get the treat – by using his brother's secret tickle spot – but a voice from downstairs interrupted their fight.

"Boys! Dinner is ready!"

The two teenagers looked at each other, then leapt up, flinging open the bedroom door and racing down the stairs. The epic battle for the ice cream would just have to wait.

"This ain't over, Mattie!" Alfred said, chasing the Canadian down the hall.

Matthew just grinned, his unkempt hair forgotten about.

* * *

Gilbert didn't know why his brother was mad at him. Really, he didn't! After he came home from soccer practice, he found his younger brother waiting for him with an unamused look on his face – not that Ludwig ever looked amused. He just looked particularly unamused today.

"I don't see what the big deal is," Gil said after he explained the situation. He frowned at his brother and sank into the living room couch, holding a beer. "I was even nice enough to take off his glasses!"

Ludwig's expression didn't change. "You know, Williams isn't even a freshman."

The albino popped open the beer can. ". . . He's not?"

"No, Brother. He's in my grade, so I think I should know." Sure, he had never actually talked to the Canadian, but he knew he was the same age as him.

"_Ja_, well, he's in my homeroom!" Gilbert turned a little red and swung his beer can around, spilling some of the drink onto the sofa. It was the best excuse he could come up with, which wasn't very good at all; he skipped homeroom period most of the time, a fact his family members knew well.

Ludwig ignored the petulant retort. "You're going to get suspended if you keep hazing people like that."

"What about you?" The albino shot him a look and smirked. "I noticed you didn't bother to help him."

The German flushed and looked away. "I . . . I was distracted." He coughed into a fist, composing himself. "Why'd you do that anyway? I think you already knew he's a Junior."

Gil stared into his beer can and took a long sip. He seemed to be hiding something. "You figured it out. Good for you."

Ludwig continued on. "You've been talking about him all week . . . " _Which worries me_, he thought, _because you're usually talking about no one but yourself_.

"What? He's a hot little piece of ass. Why wouldn't I talk about that?"

"So this is a conquest thing?"

"Sure, if you wanna call it that." He shrugged and wiped the drink off his upper lip, smiling. "I'll totally have banged him by graduation."

Ludwig shook his head slightly at the crude word choice. "That's your plan, huh?"

The Prussian took another gulp of beer and grinned. "It'll work, Bro. He'll see how charmingly witty and awesome I am and fall madly in love with me!"

"And you'll do that by giving him swirlies," Ludwig deadpanned.

"Something like that," Gil said, waving a hand. He downed the rest of his drink and crushed the empty can against the side of his head. "It's not like you can talk, Bro. You're not exactly the love guru. Remember last Valentine's with Feliciano?"

Ludwig stood up, staring at the floor, knowing his brother was right. He didn't need to be reminded of that fiasco. Gilbert looked up at him, arching an eyebrow.

"Well," he said, scuffing at the carpet with his toe. "If you get expelled . . . you can't say I didn't warn you." He turned and walked out of the living room with the silence and finality of a pallbearer.

Gil watched him leave and smiled a little to himself. Bringing up his brother's epic failure at courting the Vargas kid was a guaranteed way to get him off your case.

He just needed to make sure he didn't make the same mistakes he did . . .

* * *

Translations

mon canard = my duck (French)

Ja = Yes (German)

**A/N:** Wow, thanks to everyone who reviewed and set alerts for the last chapter! I didn't expect to get much of a response at all. But now I feel all warm and puffy inside. :D

And I have to tell you something. The most amazing thing happened today. I got my report card, and my average in Math doubled! Which means I'm actually going to get my diploma, as long as I pass the final exam. I'm so happy!

Next chapter will introduce the Spain/S. Italy/Canada love triangle. By the way, I've changed the summary. I think it's a better one. That's it. 'Bye!


	3. At The Library

A few weeks had passed since the first Friday of the new school year, and the elections were in full swing. It was such a frantic time that Matthew had put the swirlie out of his mind – then again, his brother had involved him in his presidential campaign so much that he could hardly think of anything else.

Alfred had commissioned Matt to help him hang up his posters after school. He asked him why he didn't get his pick for Vice, Toris, to help him, but Al just sighed and shook his head.

"I tried to get him to run against Ivan," he explained. "But he didn't want to do it."

Matthew nodded. He'd heard how Peter Kirkland, a sophomore and a distant cousin to the brothers, stepped up to compete for the place of Vice against Braginski; poor Peter had no idea what he was up against. Ivan Braginski was the favoured candidate, even if it was through sheer force of terror. The unwavering support from the anxiety-ridden Raivis was proof of that, and even Toris seemed to have thrown himself behind the Russian's campaign; that was surely why he didn't want to run for Vice, and why Alfred was so upset about it. The Canadian pushed those thoughts out of his mind, turning back to hanging up posters. He had to focus on his task or his brother would start whining at him again.

* * *

The next day, Feliks met up with Matt at lunch time, outside the library. He wore some sort of weird red-and-white, streamer-like decoration in his hair. Matt quirked an eyebrow at him.

"What's up with that, eh?" he said, pointing at the accessory.

"Matt, seriously, it's the latest trend." Feliks flipped his hair back, and the decoration rustled. "You'd know that if you'd joined my Fashion Club. Which, by the way, is having its second meeting tomorrow. You should, like, totally come with me, Matt! You can always sign up later . . . "

Matt slapped a hand to his forehead. "I completely forgot!" Really, how could he let that slip his mind?

Feliks patted the Canadian's shoulder and twisted a lock of blond hair around his index finger. "It's cool, Matt, there's always room for one more - "

"I have to go," Matt said. "Sorry. I'll see you later, eh!"

Matthew ran off, leaving Feliks to stare at his back.

"He better be going off to buy one of these!" The Polish boy fingered his hair decoration and sauntered away, not looking back.

* * *

"Call me a tomato again and I'll kick your ass!"

Lovino Vargas didn't notice the harsh look the librarian, Ms. Amenemhat, shot him from behind her desk. He was too busy glaring at a knot hole in the table, ignoring the cats clawing at his leg, and pointedly avoiding Antonio's eyes.

"Shh, Lovi~" the Spaniard said, playing with a lock of Lovino's hair. The Italian tensed beside him. "You have to talk quietly in the library!"

"You're so damn annoying," Lovino hissed, rising from his chair, several cats dangling from his waist. Antonio followed him as he stalked between the bookshelves.

"Lovino, please don't be mad . . . "

The Vargas boy ignored him and paused to rip one of the cats off his person. It was a convenient way to ignore his on-again, off-again boyfriend. He plucked the cats off his jeans and dropped them to the floor, watching as they meowed and scrambled away, ducking under the bookshelves. Stupid cats. Why was Ms. Amen even allowed to have them in the library? Sure, she practically worshipped them, and Heracles and Kiku didn't seemed to mind, but having so many felines running free in a public building must violate some health code. And Lovino didn't find it the least bit endearing that they seemed bent on smothering him every time he went to get a book.

"Lovino?"

Antonio's voice snapped him out of his musings. Lovino dropped the last cat to the floor and whipped around to face the other, putting on his best scowl. "What?"

"Don't be mad. Let's go to the soccer pitch, ay?"

Lovino _humphed_ and folded his arms. "Maybe I don't want to play now."

"No? That's OK," the Spaniard said. He came to rest his arms around Lovino's shoulders, standing behind him. The younger one raised an eyebrow. "We could just sit under the bleachers . . . "

He began nibbling lightly on his earlobe, and Lovino felt the blood rush to his face. He turned around in the other's hold, and Antonio drew back, smiling at him. He poked him in the cheek.

"Hehe, Lovi, you look like a to-"

"THAT'S IT!" Lovino pushed the older one away, seething. "God, you never listen!" Before Antonio could react, the Vargas boy headbutted him, sending him stumbling backwards into the bookshelf. Several books fell down, and somewhere nearby, a cat screeched.

Ms. Amenemhat noticed the commotion, poking her head around the row. "No headbutting in the library!" she said, clucking her tongue. She disappeared immediately after, before Lovino could throw her his best death glare.

"W-what's wrong, Lovi?" Antonio asked, clutching his stomach.

The Italian huffed and began walking away. "You're stupider than my brother, you know that?" He stormed off towards the exit, ignoring the older boy trailing after him.

* * *

Matthew had to ask the office to see the club sheets; luckily, there was still time to sign up, and Ms. Karpusi handed them to the boy with a smile. Matt sat down in one of the waiting chairs and flipped through the papers. There were a lot of clubs this year – Feliks' Fashion Club being one of the new ones – but hardly any of them interested the Canadian. He thought the Video Game Club might be one he'd like to join, but he reconsidered when he read Im Yong Soo's name listed as its leader. He liked the Korean, but he didn't want to risk sexual assault every time he went to a meeting. Sighing, he flipped through the lists again. What could he choose?

In the end, he decided to put his name under the Yearbook Club, Prom Committee, and on a whim, the Library Prefects. A lot of different people were in the Yearbook Club and Prom Committee, so he would surely start making friends there. And besides, he could contribute to the school at the same time.

Matt handed the papers back to the secretary. Ms. Karpusi looked them over as Matt went to exit the office.

"Library Prefects?" she said suddenly, stopping Matt mid-step. He turned around to find her smiling warmly at him again. "That's impressive. Only one other person decided to become one this year."

"Yes, well . . . " The Canadian scratched the back of his head and shuffled on the spot, embarrassed. Without another word, he turned and disappeared out the office.

* * *

When Matt returned to the library entrance a few minutes later, he found that Feliks was no longer there. He shrugged; his Polish friend would probably come looking for him later. Matt turned away from the library doors, intending to go back to the cafeteria. He paused when he heard a commotion from within. Before he knew what was happening, the heavy door flung open and smacked him in the head. He fell to the floor as two students breezed through the entrance.

"Leave me alone!"

Matt looked up to see Lovino, a boy he recognized from his Gym class last year, glaring at Antonio, the Senior. The older one just smiled in response, and Lovino huffed, turning away. He made to walk forward, but tripped over Matthew, who was still lying prone on the floor.

"What the fuck . . . ?" Lovino looked back at Matthew, raising his eyebrows as the other tried to get up, not saying a word or making eye contact. Antonio, meanwhile, stood off to the side, tilting his head at the Italian. Had he just tripped over air?

Matt blinked when he felt a hand close around his. Frowning, Lovino had pulled him to his feet, ignoring everyone else.

"Matthew, right?" he said, releasing his hand.

"Y-yeah . . . "

"You OK?" he said gruffly.

"Er . . . yeah, I think so . . . " He could feel a bump forming on his head, but he wasn't about to mention that.

"Yeah, well, be more careful next time - " the other boy muttered, averting his gaze. Antonio looked at him strangely.

"Lovi? Who are you talking to?"

The Italian rolled his eyes. "Honestly, he's right here, idiot." Lovino grasped Matthew's shoulder and gave it a firm shake. Matt began to feel a little nauseous. "Are you that blind?"

Antonio stared blankly at the space next to the Vargas boy before his green eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh, Matthew! Hi! Didn't see you there, heh heh . . . " He waved awkwardly, and Matthew spared him a smile, the grip on his shoulder beginning to hurt.

"It's fine," he said, deflating in relief when Lovino finally relinquished him. He hoped he didn't have a bruise.

The Italian spun him around to face him. "So, uh, Matthew," he said, turning a little pink. "Do you like . . . cheese?"

Matt blinked, and Antonio stared. Just what was Lovino doing?

"I guess so," Matthew said after a silence.

"Good. I like cheese too. There's a lot of restaurants that have cheese around here. Do you want to go out?"

"What?" Matthew and Antonio asked simultaneously.

Lovino ignored the Spaniard. "I said, do you want to go out with me?" He tried not to frown. Good Lord, he hated doing this. But right now, anything to show up that Spanish idiot was fine with him. "I mean, if Friday next week is good - "

Matthew felt his brow heat up. He'd never been asked out on a date before, and the weirdness of the whole situation didn't help his nerves. Still, Lovino was looking at him expectantly; he had to give an answer. Well, why not? The Vargas boy seemed like he was trying to be nice, which was better than nothing.

"OK," he said, nodding. "Friday. Yeah. I'll see you then."

Lovino almost smiled, and Antonio looked as though his heart might shatter into a million pieces. "Right. I look forward to it. Well, see you later, Matt." He walked away, not looking back at the Spanish one. Antonio sighed quietly, then trudged off in the opposite direction, leaving Matthew alone by the library.

He stood there watching the people pass by until Feliks returned, several minutes later. He still wore his hair decoration.

"You seriously look like you've just seen a ghost," he said, waving a hand in front of the Canadian's face. Matt snapped out of his trance, turning to look at the other. "What, like, happened while I was gone?"

"I'm not sure," Matthew said. He took a deep breath. "But I think I've got a date next week."

* * *

Matthew wondered how he'd ever got his own stalker.

After school let out, he went to the library, braving the hordes of cats to check out a book he needed for his History homework. He didn't notice Gilbert following him, peering at him silently as he moved through the stacks. The book was hard to find, and he squinted down the rows of shelves, searching for the right title. Ms. Amenemhat was mysteriously absent, so he had to look for it himself.

Finally he found what he was looking for, and he pulled the tome out of the shelf. He found a pair of red eyes where the book had been.

"Hey, Matt!"

Matthew screamed a most-unmanly scream and dropped the book. The Prussian blinked at him.

"W-Weillschmidt! Wh- How long have you been there?"

The red-eyed one walked around the shelf to meet Matthew on the other side. He smirked at him. "Since you've been there."

"So now you're stalking me?" Matt asked, flushing pink. Truthfully, he didn't mind the attention, but it was a bit unnerving.

Gilbert waved a hand dismissively. "Well, I wouldn't use such a negative word . . . "

Matt ignored him as he bent down to pick up the fallen book. He straightened up to see the albino smiling at him, and he blushed harder.

"I . . . have to go," he mumbled, scurrying past the older boy, book in hand. Gil watched him leave, still smiling. That Canadian was so cute when he was embarrassed!

* * *

**A/N:** Ms. Amenemhat is my OC for Ancient Egypt. Well, I think she's an OC. Ancient Egypt isn't in canon, is she?

The "do you like . . . cheese?" thing is a reference to the movie, She's The Man xD

Next chapter: Mr. Rome fails at flirting, and Gil gets jealous. We also see hints of Spain/Switzerland!


	4. On The Field

Gil had taken to sitting behind Matt in every class they shared, which Matt wouldn't have minded so much if the Prussian wasn't such a bother. Although Gilbert liked playing pranks on everyone, he seemed to enjoy playing pranks on Matthew the most, and managed to convince himself that he was getting closer to his goal every time the younger boy yelled at him. Luckily for the Canadian, yelling had become less necessary as the days went on. He'd become quite adept at deflecting the albino's tries.

Like in first period Chemistry class that day.

"Hey, Matt," Gil said, coming up behind him and slapping his hands down on his shoulders. Matthew tensed at the contact. He turned slowly to face him, wondering what he was planning this time. Class hadn't even started yet!

"What?"

"Big test this period," he said, grinning. "You ready for it?"

Matthew rolled his eyes. So that was the trick _du jour_? "Nice try, Weillschmidt."

Gilbert frowned. "How'd you know?"

"For one," Matthew said, walking towards his desk, back facing the Prussian following him. "We haven't even finished the first unit. And secondly, your grin kinda gave it away. I don't think you of all people would be smiling if we had a test." He sat down and took out a pen from his pocket.

Gil ignored the dig at his character and leaned over the other. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders and rubbed his knuckles over his head, giving him a noogie. "You're a smart cookie, Matt! Most people are dumber than you!" Matt just winced and tried to squirm out of the older boy's hold, dropping his pen.

At that moment, the Chemistry teacher walked in, and Gilbert went to sit down. Matt sighed in relief as the teacher strode to her desk, picking out a marker.

"Take out your notebooks, class. Today we'll finish our notes on polymerization . . . "

The Chemistry teacher droned on, and Gilbert turned to talk to the student sitting next to him, Lea, probably trying to coax her into misbehaviour again, like he did just about every Chemistry class. Matthew felt only slightly disappointed that he could concentrate on his notes, and not on the albino sitting close by. Now, if he could only get through the rest of the day without Weillschmidt humiliating him . . .

* * *

Ms. Karpusi was beginning to dread going to work in the mornings. She felt this despite the fact that every day was relatively ordinary; nothing particularly terrible ever happened at the school, so to an outsider, her dread seemed unfounded. It was just another morning of work: sort some papers, accept some phone calls, get hit on by her boss . . .

She sighed, thinking of the principal. He was over-excitable, brash, and impulsive, but that same enthusiasm and liveliness was what drew her to him in the first place. That, and his rugged good looks didn't hurt either, as cliche as it was.

"The elections are tomorrow!" Mr. Rome's voice startled Karpusi out of her reveries, and she jerked her head up. She watched as he burst through the door, with a sunny smile on his face that was so wide it forced his eyes shut. "Isn't it exciting?"

"Yeah. Thrilling," the woman said. She kept her eyes trained on her paperwork as Rome jumped up on the desk, much like a cat, grinning at her. Several stacks of papers fells to the floor. He ignored them.

Sadly, this was a normal occurrence in the school office.

"Well?" he said, resting his elbows against the table and putting his chin in his hands. "Aren't you going to say 'good morning' to me?"

"Good morning," she said, flicking her eyes up to meet his. He was staring intently at her, and she looked away. "Uh, I photocopied the permission sheets for the ninth-grader's vaccinations next month. They're in a box on the desk." The Grecian stood up and went to a nearby filing cabinet, opening it and pretending to search for something. Mr. Rome watched her with keen eyes.

"And a good morning to you too," he said, smirking as he crept off the desk. Karpusi plucked a random manila folder out of the cabinet, not noticing the man creeping up behind her.

"Is it too soon?" she said, ignoring him. "Because I think you should put it on the announce – AH!"

The secretary squealed when Rome lifted her in the air. She dropped the folder and flailed a little. The principal just smiled, oblivious to her protests.

"W-what are you doing?" She wriggled in his arms, and tried to punch him. "Put me down!"

"But aren't you tired?" Rome asked, waltzing slightly around the room, not affected by the other's strikes. Ms. Karpusi prayed that no other staff members would walk into the office.

"What?"

Mr. Rome stopped spinning. "You must be tired," he said, staring into her eyes. "Since you've been running through my mind all day . . . "

Karpusi rolled her eyes and finally wriggled out of the other's grasp, landing as elegantly as possible on the floor. "Is that what you're trying now?" she said, smoothing out her skirt. "Cliche pick-up lines? Besides, the day has barely begun."

"Exactly," Rome said, standing with arms akimbo. He seemed quite unperturbed at the rejection. Ms. Karpusi scoffed at him before turning to face the desk, bending to pick up the fallen papers.

"How many times do I have to say it?" The Greek woman straightened up and placed the stacks on the desktop. "I don't make it a policy to date my coworkers."

Mr. Rome stroked his stubbled chin. "So if I wasn't, you would go on a date with me?"

"How about that soccer, huh?" Karpusi said loudly, sinking back into her chair. "Big match coming up." Really, she didn't care much for the sport, but she could pretend if it derailed the uncomfortable line of conversation.

"Oh, yes," Mr. Rome said, beaming, effectively distracted. "Feliciano's playing forward. My boy is so talented!~"

Ms. Karpusi smiled and clasped her hands in front of her, nodding. "He's a good boy, Sir." She stared at her intertwined fingers, avoiding his eyes. "You must be proud."

Rome frowned. "Hey, what did I tell you about calling me that?" He leaned across the desk and took the Grecian's chin in his hand, tilting her head up and forcing her to look at him. She tensed.

"I – You - "

Karpusi was just about to get her voice back when a crash sounded from the back of the office. The two whipped around to find the window shattered, shards of glass splayed across the floor. A soccer ball rolled to a stop next to the desk chair.

"What the . . . ?" Ms. Karpusi picked up the ball, and Rome looked outside. Feliciano was running across the school's front lawn, towards the broken office window, waving his arms frantically.

"Ve~ I'm sorry, Papa!" He leaned in through the gap, looking a bit tired but not at all ashamed. "I was practising before the bell, and I guess I kicked in the wrong direction . . . can I please have the ball back?"

Rome just smiled as the secretary gaped at his son. "That's my boy!" He watched as Karpusi tossed the ball to Feliciano, shaking her head slightly. The Italian ran away without hesitation.

Ms. Karpusi held her head in her hands and sighed before the man turned back to face her.

"I'll get Berwald to board up that window," he said, oblivious to the Grecian's withered look. "And can you call Tino for me? Can't just leave all that glass lying around!~"

"Yeah, I'll do that," Karpusi muttered, picking up the phone. Mr. Rome nodded and made to walk out of the office. He paused at the door, turning to look back at his secretary.

"This isn't over . . . I'm not going to give up!" he said, winking. "And remember what I told you before, _Kallisto_."

Ms. Karpusi flushed hearing him say her given name. Before she could respond, Rome blew her a kiss and disappeared from the office, closing the door behind him.

Kallisto listened to the door click shut and wondered why she didn't just quit.

* * *

Matthew leaned over the soccer pitch railing, eyes following the players running across the school's field. Several students he knew of were kicking the ball around: Antonio, Lovino, and his brother Feliciano were in the red shirts; Vash, Gilbert, and his brother Ludwig wore the blue shirts. He'd been watching nearly all the practises in the past few days, since Lovino asked him out, and had actually talked to a few of the school's players. Lovino, of course, always came to talk to him after the practise, and Matt was glad for the companionship.

"Hey." A voice caught Matthew's attention, and he looked around to find Lovino ducking under the railing, joining him on the opposite side. The practise must have been over already. "You came again?"

"Yeah," Matthew said, toying with the drawstrings on his hoodie. A cold wind ruffled their hair as Lovino came to stand beside him, and the Italian shivered. If they looked, they would've found the other players dashing towards the sheltered dressing rooms, away from the wind. " . . . Did you not want me to?"

"No! Don't be stupid. I . . . do like talking to you." He leaned next to him on the pitch railing. "You're not an idiot, like most people."

"Er . . . thanks."

"It's . . . just that I didn't expect it," he continued, talking in a low voice, "since it's so cold today."

Matt smiled. "The cold doesn't bother me," he said. "I can handle it. And besides, I like watching you play."

Lovino flushed a little, and he looked to the side. Matt had grown used to such reactions from his Italian friend, and actually found it endearing, in a strange way. Neither talked, and for several minutes they stood in silence, just watching the wind rustle in the trees. Lovino, though, looked like he had something on his mind. Matthew gave him a nudge.

"I do mean what I said," Lovino blurted out after a minute, cheeks burning. "Don't - "

He paused, looking in the direction of the school. Antonio, Vash, and Feliciano had returned from the dressing room – having cleaned up – and walked along the path outside, several yards from the pitch. The Spanish one locked eyes with Lovino, some detached look written on his face. Lovino snapped his gaze away, and found Matt looking at him curiously.

"Don't . . . ?"

Lovino grabbed his hand. "Don't go thinking I don't like you," he said, leaning closer. Matthew felt his heart beat faster, and he averted his eyes.

The Italian glanced away from the other, back towards the school path. Feliciano had disappeared, but Antonio and Vash stood rooted in spot on the walkway. Lovino frowned to see his ex-boyfriend talking animatedly to the Swiss, smiling brightly and making elaborate hand gestures. He felt a little gratified, though, to see that Vash still had his usual unimpressed look.

Matthew tugged on his uniform sleeve with his free hand, brows furrowed in concern. "Are you OK?" he asked, snapping the other out of his trance.

Lovino shook his head, his odd curl – identical to his brother's – brushing against Matt's face. "Fine," he said. "I'm fine. I'll see you later." He gave Matt's hand a squeeze before releasing it and walking away, just as Gilbert and Ludwig emerged from the dressing room.

The Vargas boy trudged across the grass towards the showers, passing Antonio and Vash along the way. He heard the Spaniard telling Vash a joke, and the Swiss finally smiled and even laughed a little. Lovino walked faster, bumping shoulders with Gil on his way.

The Prussian frowned. He looked at Matthew, still leaning against the pitch rail, then back at Lovino. He turned to his brother.

"You go on without me," he said, disregarding Ludwig's confused expression to stare back at the Canadian boy. "I'll catch ya later."

Ludwig shrugged and continued along the path, only glancing back once as his older brother made his way towards Matthew. Gilbert didn't stop walking until he stood directly in front of him. He'd seen Matt and Lovino holding hands. This was bad, very bad. How was he supposed to bone him if he was cosying up to other guys?

Matthew looked up and raised an eyebrow. "What do you want, Weillschmidt . . . "

"I wanna know what you think you were doing with that Italian douchebag," Gil said, folding his arms.

Matt scoffed. "D-don't say that! He's not a douchebag!"

Gil looked away, towards the dressing rooms. He was so having it out with him once he came out. "What do you like about him, anyway?"

"Wh - " Matt started. Was Gilbert _jealous_? "Well," he said, straightening up, regaining his composure. "He's nice to me. Unlike you!"

The older boy whipped back to face him. "I'm nice to you!" he said, scandalized at the accusation that he was anything but.

"Really?" He scoffed again. "What's one kind thing you've done for me, ever?"

Gilbert paused, searching for an answer. Before he could say anything, Matthew cut him off.

"Exactly."

The Prussian sighed and shook his head. This wasn't working out at all. "Seriously, Matt. I don't think you can trust him."

Matthew narrowed his eyes. "You're not my keeper. I can talk to whoever I want!" Before the older one could reply, he turned and began walking away. "And you need to stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, eh!" he called over his shoulder.

Gil watched him leave, frowning. "Yeah, well, I take back what I said about you being smart!" he said, shouting so his voice carried over the wind. He spun around, not wanting to hear what the other might say.

The Canadian didn't look back. "Whatever, Weillschmidt!"

Both boys stalked off in opposite directions, both feeling very disappointed in each other.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm glad to see that people are still sticking with this story. I think my readers are more dedicated than I am. Seriously though. I've never finished a long story yet, but I'm really gonna try to complete this one.

Anyway, I'm trying not to make Gil too cruel to Matt, 'cause then he'd just be a victim, you know? And I hate it when people portray Canada as some weak little doormat and nothing else. It's annoying. He has to stand up for himself eventually, and that's what I'm hoping to show.

In the next chapter, we see Gil playing with Matt's curl, the first hint of America/Lithuania, and Antonio's awkward attempts at relating to Vash.


	5. Expert Dating Advice

Matthew did not to expect to see Gilbert at the Yearbook Club meeting on Friday.

It was the first meeting of the year, at lunch time, just hours after the announcement that Alfred won the Student Council presidency. Matt had walked into the meeting room by his brother's side, and the place immediately burst into whoops and hollers for the new president, but he did not notice. He felt his heart stop and the world fall silent when he saw that red-eyed boy grinning at him from across the room.

He rushed over to sit next to him while Alfred took the podium. "What are _you_ doing here?" he whispered. Matt had yet to forgive him, especially after he tried to beat up Lovino outside the showers. The albino turned to smile lazily at him, confident as ever.

"Can't a guy join the Yearbook Club if he wants to?"

Matt tried not to roll his eyes. He opened his mouth to retort, but his brother's voice interrupted him.

"OK, OK, quiet down! Thanks, thank you. Well, as you know, as your Student Council President - " someone cheered from the back. "As your President, I preside over this meeting. Which is gonna be AWESOME, by the way!" Alfred paused to pump his fist in the air, and several more students let out excited whoops. "Now, since this is just the first meeting, we won't pick teams yet - "

The American continued on with his speech, and Matthew turned his attention back to Gil. He shook his head at him. "Come on. You must have had a reason."

Gilbert glanced away. Deep down he knew his true motivations for joining Matthew's club, but he couldn't just tell him. That would be too sissy. "I found out you joined," he said, turning back to send the younger one a smug grin. "So I decided to save you from the boringness of this thing with my awesome presence."

This time, Matt did roll his eyes. "That's generous of you."

"I'm also on the Prom Committee," Gilbert said, beaming.

Matthew sighed. It was getting harder and harder for him to like this guy everyday. "Let me guess," he said, resting his chin in his hand. "You're a Library Prefect, too?"

The Prussian smirked and reclined in his seat. "Nope. That's for pansies like you, Matt."

Somehow he should've expected that answer.

"Yeah, well, my brother is in charge of both of those clubs, so I can get you kicked out whenever I want. So don't do anything stupid," Matt said, folding his arms and pouting cutely. Gilbert smiled at him and reached over to tug on his wayward curl.

"Little Matthew would never do that to me!" He wrapped the hair around his pointer finger, not yet aware of the way Matt tensed, his face flushing bright red. "Would you, Matt?"

Gil gave the curl one last twist before releasing it, and Matthew took in a great gulp of air, face still glowing. "That - " he said breathlessly, gripping tightly to the edges of his chair, chest heaving. The albino furrowed his eyebrows at the reaction. "That's the kind of stuff that will get you kicked out."

"What?" Gilbert frowned, confused, and grabbed the curl again. Matthew's back arched and he swallowed a scream. "This?"

Matt smacked his hand away, panting and embarrassed. He was about to yell at the curious Prussian, but Alfred's voice distracted him.

"Alright, guys, that's it," he said. He slapped his hands on the podium and threw his gaze around the room. "The next meeting is on Wednesday, next week! We'll pick our teams then, so be there or be a reject."

The club members began filing out of the room, all except Alfred and Toris (who had also joined the Yearbook Club). They exchanged hugs as the last members left. Matthew shut the door behind him, thinking that his brother and Toris might like their privacy. He walked down a corridor, trying to ignore the Prussian chasing after him. He didn't want to be reminded of that mortifying (yet strangely pleasurable) situation back there, especially while he was in school.

Gil followed Matt down the hall, staring at the curl bobbing as he walked. He wasn't sure what that hair was all about, but he rather liked seeing the Canadian flushed and panting . . .

* * *

"That was great," Toris said, withdrawing from the hug as the door closed. "I knew you could do it."

Alfred just beamed at him. "It was nothing." The Lithuanian smiled back at him, but his face fell, and he looked at the carpet. _It'd just be better if Toris was Vice instead of Braginski_, he thought.

"Something wrong, Al?" Toris asked, noticing his troubled expression.

The American shook his head and smiled again. "Nah, I'm fine." He made a step towards the door before urging the other along with him. "Come on, let's go outside."

They exited the room, and Toris thought he knew what the strange reaction was about, but he said nothing.

* * *

Vash couldn't figure out why Antonio was so interested in making conversation with him when it was obvious they had so little in common.

They sat quietly on the grassy patch bordering the school's west side, huddling into their jackets whenever the cold autumn wind picked up. Lunchtime was almost over, and Lovino was still ignoring the Spaniard, maintaining his record of having not talked to him all week. Now Antonio had taken to hanging around Vash more and more, even when he found nothing to say.

"So, um, do you like tomatoes?" Antonio asked, breaking the silence.

Vash narrowed his eyes. Was that some sort of innuendo?

"What?"

The brown-haired one scratched the back of his head. "I mean, if you really hate them, you don't have to say you do just to be nice - "

"Uh, yeah," Vash said, interrupting him. "Tomatoes are fine, I guess. I grew some on my window this summer."

The Swiss blanched once he realized just what he had admitted. Antonio would probably make fun of him now, and he would be forced to pistol-whip him. Damn, he hated having to do that. He reached for his gun under the waistband of his jeans, but paused when he heard no laughter, no mocking snickers. He looked up to find the Spanish one smiling brightly at him, green eyes sparkling.

"Really?" he said. "I grow them too!"

Vash folded his hands in his lap awkwardly and cleared his throat. "That's nice." He paused, and Antonio, with his smile stretching across his face, remained oblivious to his discomfort, as always. "Heirlooms?"

Antonio smiled wider (if that was possible) and nodded. "All kinds, actually. Brandywine, Black Krim, Green Zebra . . . "

"You like gardening, huh?" the Swiss said, studying his animated expression. Maybe they did have something in common.

Antonio shrugged. "It can be pretty fun, I guess. But I mostly like growing tomatoes." Vash briefly wondered if this guy had developed some sort of unhealthy obsession with the vegetable. "Why? Do you like it?"

The blond one coughed and looked away. "Uh, maybe. Say, why aren't you talking to your boyfriend?" Not like Vash really cared about the other's petty relationship problems, but it was a safer subject of conversation.

Antonio stared down at the yellowed grass, his smile disappearing. "Well, he kinda doesn't want to talk to me. And that's, uh, ex-boyfriend now . . . "

"Oh. Um, sorry."

"It's no problem," Antonio replied, shaking his head. He paused before looking straight into Vash's eyes. "Hey, do you want to go out tonight?"

Vash started. What was he doing, asking him out? Antonio tilted his head slightly when the other just gaped at him.

"There's this restaurant we could go to," he continued. "They have really great food . . . "

"I - " Vash considered the offer. Well, Antonio was annoying, but he wasn't _too_ annoying. He was actually starting to like him since he seemed to have some interest in gardening. And besides, he'd never pass up an offer for something free. "OK. I'll go with you. But only if you're paying!"

Antonio grinned. "Great! And of course I'll pay, I'm the one who asked." At that moment, the bell rang from the school, signaling the end of lunch. The Spaniard stood up. "Well, see you later, Vash!" He waved at him, sending him a cheery smile, and dashed back towards the school.

Vash just shook his head and went to walk along the path at a much slower pace.

* * *

For the rest of the afternoon period, Gil followed Matthew around every chance he got – between classes, when he took a washroom break – with the simple intention of tugging on his weird little curl again, to see if he'd get that same interesting reaction as before. Matt, of course, didn't find this the least bit amusing. By the time the dismissal bell had rang, and Gilbert had tried to touch his curl for the seventy-second time, Matthew was completely and utterly fed up. After the Prussian followed him to his locker, he whacked him with his Trigonometry book. To Matt's annoyance, Gilbert just laughed.

"W-what's so funny, eh?"

Gil leaned against the adjacent locker and sighed fondly. "You're so cute when you're mad, Matt. You wanna hang out?"

Closing his locker, Matt turned to look at him with an arched eyebrow. "When? Now?"

The albino shrugged. "Sure," he said, hoping he sounded casual, though his heart was beating faster than normal.

"Sorry." Matt secured his lock and Gil started. Was he _rejecting_ him? "But I have to get ready for my date."

Gilbert frowned, watching as the Canadian juggled his textbooks in his arms. "Let me guess. It's with Vargas."

"Sorry," Matt said one last time, shrugging. He walked away, joining the crowd that would board the buses, leaving the Prussian to stand at the lockers and shake his head in disbelief.

* * *

Gil trudged down the now-empty corridors, grumbling under his breath.

"Stupid Vargas . . . "

He passed a trash can, and gave it a swift kick. Gilbert watched with mild satisfaction as it crashed to the floor, spilling its contents across the width of the hallway. There was nothing like defacing school property to blow off steam. Though, he wouldn't mind another chance to brawl it out with that douchebag . . .

"Why would he ditch _me_ for _him_!?"

"Why would who ditch you for who?"

The Prussian jumped. He turned around to find Mr. Rome standing behind him, an oblivious smile on his face.

"Uh, sorry, Sir . . . " Gilbert rubbed the back of his neck, feeling foolish. Today was not his day.

The principal just shook his head, still smiling as he stepped across the garbage-strewn floor to reach his student. "No problem, son. Something's obviously bothering you." He wrapped an arm around his shoulders and gave him a little nudge. "C'mon, you can tell Mr. Rome what's wrong."

Gilbert just stared. It wasn't the overt affection that disturbed him – he was used to Mr. Rome's antics, having attended his school for over three years now – it was the pure _irony_ of the situation. What was he supposed to say? _I have a problem with your son dating the guy I want to fuck_? And besides, who the hell discussed their relationship problems with their principal?

"It's nothing, Sir," Gil said, shrugging off his arm.

Mr. Rome pouted – actually pouted – and folded his arms. "Now, it's alright. There's no need to be embarrassed. I'm a confidential kinda guy!"

Gilbert sighed, knowing how persistent the principal could be. And it's not like that day could get much worse. "Well . . . OK. I . . . want to know how to get someone to go out with me." If his skin could maintain any pigment, he surely would have been blushing at the words.

Rome tapped a finger against his chin, looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling. "Well, first you have to ask them," he said, with complete sincerity.

"I did that!"

"Oh." Mr. Rome looked confused. "And they said 'no'?"

Gil rolled his eyes. "Obv – I mean, yes Sir."

The principal nodded and hummed. "Right. Well, in that case, you must communicate clearly, and let them know that you won't accept 'no' for an answer! Just don't hang around them too much, because then they might put a restraining order on you, and that's a real damper . . . I know from experience." He sent the albino a serious, paternal look.

Gilbert put his hands in his pockets and kicked a discarded drink can on the floor. "Is that it?"

Mr. Rome nodded again. "Yes . . . I'm afraid I have nothing else to say."

"Come on, you must have some secrets. Everyone knows you're totally banging your secretary . . . "

"Sadly, I'm not," Rome said, the corners of his mouth tugging downwards in a pathetic, kicked-puppy look. "Anywho, you'll probably want to get home now. Unless you want to clean up that mess!"

Gil's eyes widened. He took one glance at the mess spread across the floor, then back at his principal. He was smiling again. Without further hesitation, the Prussian bolted down the corridor, leaving the principal and responsibility behind.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm on the Yearbook Committee in my school, and the meetings are nothing like in my story (we do actually meet on Wednesdays, though!). Bleh. I'll just use the artistic license excuse. XD

This is pretty much my favourite chapter so far. So much awkwardness . . .

Anyway, I'd like to say thanks again for all the reviews last time. I really do appreciate each one, even if I don't reply to them all.

Next chapter we get another scene with Alfred and Toris, plus the aftermath (for lack of a better word) of Matt and Lovino's date.


	6. An Interrupted Kiss

By all appearances, Alfred F. Jones was a popular kid – perhaps the most popular student in the entire school. He didn't, after all, win the Student Council Presidency for nothing. He should've been drowning in attention. Still, after school he walked to the community park, alone, and sat down on one of the swings, alone, no one to keep him company. Or so it would seem.

The creaking of chains alerted Alfred that someone had settled into the swing next to him. He looked around to find Toris looking back at him, and he dragged his feet into the gravel to stop swinging.

"Toris?" he said, blinking. "What are you doing here? I mean, not that I'm not happy to see you - "

The brunet smiled a little and kicked at a pebble underneath his foot. "I was just walking home and I saw you here. You looked kinda down . . . "

Alfred shook his head and laughed. "I'm not down." He pushed off the gravel and began swinging again. "Don't be silly!"

Toris looked at him, and began to swing too, holding tightly to the chains holding up his seat. "Al . . . "

"What?"

"Your poker face is terrible, you know that?"

The American made a noise of amusement. He knew that Toris meant nothing hurtful about that statement. "I never liked gambling very much, anyway, ahahaha . . . " A gust of wind blew his cowlick into his face, and he flicked it away.

Toris decided to change the subject, slowing down his swinging slightly so he could brush his hair out of his eyes. "Where's your brother?"

Al shrugged. "He's got a date, apparently."

"Oh? Is it with that Weillschmidt guy?"

"Weillschmidt?" Alfred repeated, frowning.

"Yeah. That Prussian has been hanging around him a lot lately. Feliks says so too."

"No," Al said. "It's with the Vargas kid. The angry one. They're both bad choices, if you ask me. One is practically his own vampire stalker and the other is a school shooting waiting to happen." The blond one made some exasperated hand gestures. "I should've warned him before. He's hanging out with all these weird people now - "

Toris reached over to grab his hand before he could get too riled up. "Don't you have a date, Al?"

He paused, having stopped his swinging as soon as Toris' fingers intertwined with his own. Why was he asking him this? "No . . . " Toris had stopped swinging too, smiling at the other.

Alfred locked eyes with the Lithuanian, and couldn't help but mirror the little smile on his face. And he understood.

"Let's go, then," the American said. They got up and left the park, hand-in-hand.

* * *

It was a good thing that Matthew had decided to take a comb with him on his date. He didn't know how he'd get all the noodles out of Lovino's hair otherwise.

"The managers must be so upset . . . " he said, flicking a noodle towards the drain.

Lovino scoffed from his position over the restaurant's washroom sink. Matt held the Italian's head at an angle, brushing the pasta out of his hair and into the basin. "They can bite me if they've got a problem. I'm not the one who caused it."

"Of course not," Matt said placatingly, running his comb over the other's scalp, making sure every noodle was gone. "The food fight was actually kind of fun, though, eh?" The Canadian paused to rub at his eye, and ended up smearing tomato sauce across his face.

Lovino smiled a little. "Yeah, I guess it was." He straightened up, studying his messy hair in the mirror. "I got Antonio good with that bowl of cheese dip."

Matthew chuckled, though he felt bad for Antonio. He had every right to go to the restaurant with Vash just as they did. "Speaking about fights . . . " he said, his expression turning serious. "I'm sorry about Weillschmidt. He didn't hurt you too bad, did he?"

Lovino rolled his eyes. "Like that bastard could touch me." Of course, that was only because he could run faster than Gilbert, but he wasn't about to mention that.

Matt reached over to comb one last piece of pasta out of Lovino's hair, ignoring the way he tensed at the action. "Still, I feel bad about it . . . " He brushed his hand against the side of the Vargas boy's head, disturbing his odd curl at the same time. Matt's eyes widened and he drew back when Lovino shuddered.

"D-don't do that!" he said, determinedly avoiding eye contact with the confused Canadian.

"I'm sorry!" Matthew wasn't sure what he was apologizing for; all he did was brush the other's curl – _oh God! The curl!_ What if it had the same physiological effect as his own odd hair? His eyes watered in mortification. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean - "

"Matt, stop apologizing." Lovino flicked his brown eyes to meet the Canadian's blue-violet ones, still too embarrassed to hold eye contact. "It's nothing, OK? Just forget it happened."

Matthew nodded. "R-right." He leaned back against the sink, turning his gaze to stare at the tiled floor. What a disaster his first date had turned out to be!

"Well, uh, we should probably go now," Lovino said after an awkward silence. "I have to, uh, wash my hair, and you'll probably want to change your shirt . . . " Matt looked down at his formerly crisp, clean white shirt, which was now splattered with tomato sauce and various condiments. He hummed in assent, and they left the restaurant.

* * *

Lovino walked Matt up to the boy's doorstep. This was the part he'd been dreading all night. Would he expect a kiss? Well, he might not hate it, but he didn't want to give the guy too many wrong impressions. Then again, what did he care? It's not like Matt was actually interested in him. Was he?

"Thanks for, uh, asking me out," the Canadian said, snapping Lovino out of his musings. "Even with . . . everything. I still had fun."

"Yeah, well, it's nothing," Lovino replied, staring at the welcome mat as if it were the most intriguing thing in the world. Matthew stepped a little closer to the Italian.

"M-maybe we could do it again sometime. I mean, if that's alright with you." Matthew looked straight into Lovino's eyes, and he just nodded stupidly. The blond gave a nervous smile in response. "I – I'll see you later, then . . . "

Despite his parting words, Matt made no moved towards his house. Slowly they moved closer to each other, eyes fluttering closed, both unsure on what the hell they were doing. Their noses touched, and their breaths mingled. Matthew tilted his chin upwards, and -

A bucket on water fell on his head.

It all happened in one instant. Lovino leapt away from Matthew, getting splashed just a minimal amount. Matt looked up to see his father leaning out the window above the door, bucket in hand. He yelled at him.

"DAD!"

Arthur squinted down into the darkness. ". . . Matthew?"

"Ugh, what . . . " Matt couldn't even finish his sentence – that would've been his first kiss, and it was interrupted! Lovino watched as he swept his soaking hair out of his face, still standing off to the side.

"Oh, Matthew, that _is_ you!" Arthur put the bucket down. "I'm sorry, lad, I thought you were . . . " Even in the dim lighting both Matthew and Lovino could see the embarrassed flush on the British man's face. "Never mind. Just . . . carry on." He waved a hand and disappeared into the house, away from the window.

Matt turned back to his date. "I'm so sorry about my dad. He has some . . . strange beliefs."

The Italian shrugged and shook his head. "Yeah, that's . . . you know what, I'm used to it." He began walking away. "Ciao, Matt. See you at school."

Matthew waved. "'Bye . . . " He watched the other's back as he vanished into the night. Sighing, he entered his home, kicked off his shoes, and went straight for his bedroom.

He opened the door and found Alfred sitting on his bed with a book on his lap. The American raised his eyebrows at the sight of the red stains on Matthew's shirt.

"Jesus Christ," he said, laying the book to the side. "What did he do to you?"

Matthew rolled his eyes as he flopped down on the bed. He began to unbutton his soaked shirt. "Al, relax, it's just pasta sauce. Not blood."

"Somehow I'm . . . still worried." Alfred flopped onto the mattress, and Matt shrugged out of his shirt. "So, have fun on your little date?"

The Canadian spun around to throw him a look. "Is that jealousy I hear, Al?"

Alfred shot back up, sputtering. "M-me? Jealous of you? Hah! As if! Don't flatter yourself!"

Matthew sighed dramatically. He knew something was up with his brother. "If this is about Toris, you could, just, y'know, _ask_ him to be your - "

Before he could finish, a book collided with his face.

"Ow!" Matt rubbed his nose. "Why'd you throw that at me?"

"Sorry, Matt," Al said. "Anyway, what did you do? On your date, I mean."

Matthew shifted on the mattress, not entirely comfortable with divulging the details, and wondering if it was quite normal for brothers to discuss such topics. But he had to say something. "Well, we went to a restaurant. And a food fight broke out. That's why my clothes are all stained. And then he walked me home."

Alfred looked incredulous. "That's it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, that jerk must've at least tried to kiss you, Mattie . . . " He waved his hand in the air and looked at his brother as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Matthew said nothing. He stared at the bed blanket and chewed on the inside of his cheek. Alfred, of course, took that as a sign.

"Mattie!" he cried, grabbing his brother's shoulders. "You gotta tell me about that jerk! I need to knooow!"

"Aaah! Stop it!" Matthew tried to wrestle his brother's arms away from him. "He didn't, OK? And stop shaking me! And don't call him a jerk, eh!"

Alfred released his younger brother, peering at him with a critical eye. "I don't really believe you," he said.

Matt just sighed. "Why do you want to know so bad, anyway?"

"I've got to look out for my little bro, Mattie!" the American said, leaning over to wrap his arms around the other blond. "It's my duty to protect you!"

Matthew cast his eyes downwards, not looking at his brother. "I'm making friends and this is what you say?" _Honestly_, Matthew thought, _he's so hung up on this 'being a Hero' business, it isn't even funny_.

Alfred just squeezed tighter in response. "Hey, it's not like that - "

Before he could finish his sentence, a bang sounded from downstairs – like a door slamming shut – and Arthur's voice shouted from somewhere. There was a murmuring of French, and Matt looked back at his brother.

"Is that Papa?"

Al frowned and stood up, walking away from the bed. There were more shouts, and he shut the door.

"He's pissed at him for some reason," he said, retreating to sit back on the bed again. "But they'll kiss and make-up soon enough. It's the same old song and dance every time." He rolled his eyes and reclined onto the mattress.

The brothers looked at each. The yelling had ceased. They both knew what happened almost every time their parents had an argument, and they leapt up from the bed.

"Let's turn on the stereo" they both said at the same time.

* * *

**A/N:** This chapter was rather Alfred-focused, wasn't it? I apologize for the lack of PruCan. There will definitely be more in the next chapter.

In the next chapter we see a bit of Alfred-Ivan interaction, Matt agreeing to become Gil's friend (GASP!), plus the introduction of Gilbird! Yay!


	7. Lost And Found

"Did you just take a picture of me?"

Matthew turned away from his open locker to find Gilbert standing next to him, a camera in his hands and a grin on his face. He had, apparently, gotten over the rejection from last week. Matt blinked at him, still stunned by the flash.

"Yearbook Club meeting tomorrow, Matt." He gave his camera a shake. "I'm going on the Photography Team, obviously."

"You're really getting into this," the Canadian said, turning back to his locker to retrieve a textbook for his first class. His t-shirt rode up as he stretched to reach over the top shelf, and Gil let his eyes linger over that exposed pale skin.

"Well, why wouldn't I?" Gilbert leaned against the adjacent locker. He snapped his eyes up to meet Matthew's when he turned to throw him a questioning look. "They're all dying for my awesome input."

Matt slammed his locker shut and rolled his eyes, though he smiled slightly. "Well, I have to go to class. See you later, Weillschmidt." He walked off down the hall, not looking back. Gil watched him leave with a grin.

Had he actually smiled at him genuinely? Progress had been made! Now, if he would only go out with him . . .

* * *

If Alfred was honest with himself, he couldn't say that progress was ever really made at the Student Council meetings. He had some great ideas – like replacing the school's water fountains with root beer dispensers – but no one else could see that! It was so frustrating. The latest meeting, at lunchtime that day, was no different either. No one could agree on anything, and the Vice President, Ivan, kept pestering him, even as they left the meeting room.

"I think we should ban Natalia," he said for the third time that day, striding next to the American. The Student Council members had struck up an informal discussion about May's Prom before leaving, and Ivan, for one, wasn't going to stop talking about it until his scary little sister had been put on the No Admission list.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "I told you already, Prom is months away. We can't ban anyone yet."

The Russian adjusted his scarf. "Yes, we can."

"In that case," Al said, walking a little faster down the corridor. "We're not banning her at all."

"If she's going, then I'm not." Ivan easily caught up to the shorter one, and Al ducked his head.

"Good," he said, pausing to fish a notepad out of his pocket. "I'll make sure she attends, then." He produced a pen from somewhere and made a note to himself, effectively ignoring the taller boy's intimidating glare.

Meanwhile, in an adjacent hallway, Matthew bent rifling through his book bag, Feliks looking over him with a mildly amused expression.

"Where's my Trig book? I need it for next class . . . "

Feliks tossed his hair back. "Chill, Matt. I'm sure it'll turn up eventually," he said.

Matt sighed. "But I need it now, eh . . . " He had an important assignment in that book, and the Trigonometry teacher wouldn't accept any pieces of works that were passed in late. He was a good student, but all the same, he couldn't afford to lose any marks in that class either.

When Feliks said nothing in response, Matthew straightened up and turned to him with a sigh. "I guess I'll go to the Lost and Found," he said, zipping up his book bag.

"'Kay. See you later, Matt," Feliks said, waving. He turned away and skipped down the hall, looking for Toris.

Matthew took off in a different direction. He couldn't exactly remember where the Lost and Found office was located . . . was it on the first or second floor? Turning a corner, his thoughts were interrupted when he bumped into a broad back.

"S-sorry!" he said involuntarily.

Looking up, he found his brother and Ivan in an intense stare-down. It took a second for Alfred to notice his younger brother standing there. When he did, Ivan turned around and blinked at him as the American smiled and waved to his brother.

"Hey Mattie! What's up?"

"N-nothing, Al," Matthew replied, a little unnerved by the Russian staring down at him. "I – I have to go!" He pushed past the older boys, disappearing down the hall. They watched him leave.

"That was your brother, da?" Ivan said, turning back to Alfred with a strange light in his eyes.

Al frowned. "None of your business, you jerk-off," he said, walking back down the corridor again. Ivan chased after him with a serene smile.

* * *

The schools' Lost and Found Office was more of a closet with a small desk shoved against the wall. Gilbert sat at the desk – having bribed the usual attendant to shove off for a bit – holding Matthew's Trigonometry book, waiting for the Canadian to appear, which he surely would. It was the perfect plan. Matt would be so impressed that when he asked him out, it would be impossible for him to refuse!

The Prussian was absorbed in his thoughts of the Junior until he heard a weird noise coming from the desk. He looked down, raising an eyebrow. It sounded like some sort of animal. Now what kind of idiot would put a live animal in the Lost and Found? Curious, Gilbert opened one of the desk drawers, searching for the source of the noise. A cloud of dust rose up – apparently the Lost and Found wasn't used very often – and as it settled, it revealed a little yellow chick staring upwards.

"Cheep," said the bird.

Gil reached down to cup the fluffball in his hands and retrieved it from the drawer. It was awful cute, he had to admit. Who could ever abandon it? _Well, no matter_, Gilbert thought. The baby bird shook his feathers, appearing even fluffier than before, and the Prussian was instantly enamoured. _He's mine now!_

"I shall call you – Gilbird!" the albino said. In response, Gilbird hopped up from his hands, up his shoulder and onto his head, where he nestled in his hair and chirped happily.

At that moment, the office door opened, and a blond head poked through. Matthew looked in uncertainly.

"Ah," Gilbert said, smirking and tenting his fingers as he swiveled slightly in his rolling chair. He put on an accent. "I've been waiting for you, Matthew."

"What are - " The Canadian paused, seeing the chick nesting in Gilbert's hair. "Why is there a chicken on your head?"

"Huh? Oh, that's Gilbird," he explained, using his normal voice again. He reached up to pet the chick with a smug smile.

"Uh, OK . . . " Matt said, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind him. "Look, is my Trig book here? I really need it . . . "

"Maybe," Gil said, still smiling.

Matthew just blinked at him.

"What?" Gilbert's smile fell a little. "Why are you looking at me like I stole your most precious object?"

"Did you?"

Gil took the Trigonometry book out from underneath the desk, but did not give it to the Canadian. "You lost it, I found it, _Liebling_."

"Um, thanks," Matthew said, stretching a hand out to take the book. Gilbert held it away from him. Matt shifted uncomfortably. "Weillschmidt, I'm kind of short on time, eh . . . "

"Call me by my real name," the Prussian said seriously, no longer smiling.

Matthew faltered at the sudden change in demeanour, but quickly recovered. "Please, Gilbert . . . " he said, reaching out his hands again. He was blushing slightly, and kept glancing away; he couldn't hold eye contact very long. Gilbert looked at him. It was too adorable how easily flustered he got.

Gil sighed and stood up from the chair. "You're too damn cute for your own good," he said. Gilbird hopped down to his shoulders and back onto the desk before he walked around the desk to stop in front of Matthew. Gilbert held out his book. "You know that?"

Matt just accepted his book with an awkward smile. Gilbert stepped a little closer, and the small room suddenly felt even smaller.

"I, uh, have to go to class now . . . " The Canadian rubbed the back of his head, feeling a little awkward at the close proximity. He could see Gilbert had a strange look in his eyes. He wasn't going to try to rape him in the closet-room, was he? Sure, he liked Gilbert, but he didn't like him enough to lose his virginity to him in a dusty, cramped-up room in the middle of the school day.

Gil disregarded his statement. "Hey, Matt." He had an uncharacteristically worried expression on his face, and he grabbed Matt by the shoulders. Matthew started, looking up at him. "We're friends, right?"

Matthew deflated in relief. So that was all he wanted. "Sure," he said, smiling genuinely. He looked him straight in the eyes, and Gil smiled back.

After a second, Matt began to turn away. "Well, I'm gonna be late – see you - " He tried to move towards the door, but Gilbert stopped him.

"Hey," he said, still smiling a little but appearing almost as apprehensive as before. "Go out with me."

He licked his lips, and Matthew didn't know how to react.

And just then, the late bell rang.

* * *

**A/N: **Oh, what will Canada do? I leave you with a cliffhanger! Hehe! -gets brick'd-

By the way, I stuck a reference to Star Wars somewhere in the chapter. Did anyone catch that?

Please tell me what you thought of this chapter . . . the tone feels like it's all over the place, so I'm not so sure of it myself, to be honest :( Maybe I'm just too hard on myself, I dunno.

Oh, before I forget, I have to give props to TheEvilMuffinToaster for reminding me of the awesomeness that is Gilbird :D He probably wouldn't have gotten written in otherwise.

Hungary appears in the next chapter! (Or I think she does. I haven't exactly written it yet . . . )


	8. The Scheming Girl

Guys, before I start the story, I've got two things to say:

First of all, I recommend you read the story **Cobblestone Secrets** by **TheEvilMuffinToaster**. Summary: _In the Heart of Los Angeles was the Williams Investigative Bureau of Information. With their crackpot team and their immaculate skills, they can solve any case…Now only if they can stop fighting... _And yeah, that's shameless advertising OTL. But seriously, it's a good story. Check it out. Or else. -creepy Russia smile-

Next, I've changed this story's summary. Again. I do think this better reflects the direction I'm taking. (For now, hah . . . )

Anyway, enough of that! On with the show! (end Author's note)

* * *

_And just then, the late bell rang._

Matthew chewed his lip. Gilbert was looking at him expectantly. Before either could say anything, though, Matt made his decision. He stepped towards the door.

"I – I have to go - " he said, feeling his face grow hot. He disappeared into the hall without looking back at the Prussian he just rejected.

Gilbert just sat back, sighed, and shook his head.

* * *

Ivan stopped Matthew outside the library on Monday the next week.

"Alfred is your brother, da?"

Matt jumped. The Senior had never spoken to him before, and the question was so sudden that it threw him off guard. "Y-yeah," he said, turning around. He avoided the other's eyes and wondered if Alfred had done something to upset Ivan and was about to take it out on him. The pipe he held in his hands didn't look promising.

"But you are adopted brothers, da? Because your parents are gay," the Russian said. He looked oblivious.

Matthew bristled a little; he was growing uncomfortable with this line of questioning. He made an impatient step towards the library doors. "L-look," he said. He silently cursed himself for stuttering. "I have to t-talk to Elizaveta. She's in there." He tried to step past the older boy, but it was no use. "P-please move - "

Ivan ignored him. "And your name is . . . " he asked, still looking intently down upon the Canadian.

"M-Matthew," he squeaked. He stopped trying to side-step the other.

Ivan smiled so widely that it forced his eyes shut. "Thank you, Matthew," he chirped. "I'm sure we will talk again soon~!" With that, he clapped his free hand – the one not holding the pipe – down on the younger boy's shoulder, making his knees buckle. He walked back down the hall without saying another word.

* * *

Matthew should've known that Elizaveta taking over the Yearbook Club was a bit suspicious.

A week later, at the fourth-ever meeting, Matt walked into the meeting room at lunchtime to find that his brother wasn't there. Instead, Elizaveta Hedevary, the Senior Class Representative (and another member of the Club), stood in the middle of the room with a stack of papers in her hands; she seemed to be directing people. It was what Alfred had done all the other times.

Matthew didn't have much time to contemplate the change as Gil had caught his eye. He waved him over from his table, and Matt blushed. He was still embarrassed from that incident in the Lost and Found Office – though he supposed he couldn't avoid the Prussian for much longer.

He trudged over to the desk. Before he could greet the other, though, Elizaveta dashed over and took him aside. She hadn't failed to notice the interaction between the two boys.

"Hello, Matthew," she said, smiling sweetly. She ignored Gilbert's death glare from the table.

"Er, hi," replied Matt. Elizaveta had led him to a corner of the room, away from the others. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling a bit claustrophobic. The girl blinked at him.

"There's some stuff I wanna say to you," she explained at the sight of his worried look. "Don't worry, I'm not mad or anything."

Matthew nodded.

"So," she said. She sounded far too nonchalant. "I saw you talking to Ivan before."

Matthew shrugged one shoulder. "Yes."

"And you've been hanging around little Lovino at the soccer practices."

"Yeah . . . "

Elizaveta rocked on her heels, studying the Canadian's face intently. "And Gilbert's seemed to have taken a liking to you." She glanced back at the Prussian, who was fiddling around with his digital camera.

"Elizaveta?" Matt raised an eyebrow. "What are - "

The girl just laughed lightly and waved off his question. "Nothing, nothing. Look, take out your cell phone."

"Why?" Matthew was becoming more and more confused by the Hungarian.

"So you can get my number, silly!" Elizaveta replied. Her face fell a little. "Unless you don't want to exchange - ?"

Matthew shook his head, realizing what she had meant, and took his phone out of his pocket. "Oh, no, no, that's OK," he said, handing his mobile to the girl. Elizaveta smiled and did the same. They entered their numbers into the respective phones.

"And now we can talk to each other anytime," the brunette said, returning Matt's phone to him once she was done. "We're gonna be good friends, Matt!"

Matthew just smiled awkwardly and wondered what she was thinking. He gave her back her phone.

"Thanks. One last thing," she said. Noticing how the Canadian looked a bit antsy, she began leading him back towards the middle of the room. "I think you should go on the Photography Team."

Matt frowned a little. "What?"

"It's just a temporary thing," she said. "You see, due to, ah, _extenuating circumstances_, one of our photographers is no longer with us and we need someone to take their place for a bit. You'll help us out, right, Matt?" Elizaveta looked up at him hopefully.

Matthew chewed on his lip, considering. He felt a bit suspicious of the Senior girl's motivations – whatever they were – but on the other hand, she hadn't done anything wrong. And besides, he would be cruel to refuse. After a moment, he nodded in assent. Elizaveta grinned.

"Great! You're a life-saver, Matt." She nudged him towards one of the tables, where Gilbert was sitting. "Now why don't you help Weillschmidt over there? Lord knows he needs it . . . " She muttered the last part, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. She began walking away as Matthew approached the table.

"Hey Matt," Gil said, looking up at the blond. He grabbed his wrist and tugged the Canadian to sit down next to him. "Liza didn't eat you alive, huh?"

"Er, y-yeah." Matt brushed his bangs out of his face, staring at the tabletop. "So I guess we're working together now, eh . . . "

* * *

Gilbert decided that they were going to take candids that day. After asking the Art teacher if they could borrow one of her cameras for Matthew to use, the two boys went searching for interesting things to photograph. Matt, however, was distracted. He wanted to know why his brother had apparently abandoned the Yearbook Club. He took out his phone and began composing a text message to his brother as he walked alongside Gilbert.

"_Where are you?_" He pressed the send button and waited for a reply. Gil didn't notice him engrossed in his phone, for he himself was too busy trying to con some Freshmen into doing something stupid so he could take a picture. Matthew rolled his cell around in his hand while he waited.

Less than a minute later, Alfred wrote back. "_In teh cafeteria. Y?_"

"_Why is Liza taking over the YC?_" Matt sent the message and waited for an answer.

"_I got board_" was the simple reply.

Matthew scoffed a little, and this time Gilbert looked over. He watched him as he composed a simple message: "_:(_"

"_?_"

"Hey!" Gil said, distracted from the scared-looking Freshmen. "Stop texting and help a friend out!"

Matthew put his phone away and looked up at the other. He folded his arms. "Just because we're friends doesn't mean I have to do everything you say."

Gilbert paused, unsure what to say, and the Freshmen took the opportunity to escape. After a moment, Matt shook his head and smiled. He trotted up to the other.

"OK, OK, I'm coming." He was internally glad to find that he was getting over his embarrassment.

Gil smiled smugly and didn't seem perturbed to find that the freshies had made a run for it. "I knew you'd come around, Matt! You always do."

"So, uh, have you found any good pictures yet?" Matthew asked, leaning over to look at the screen of his camera. There was nothing on it.

"I'm onto it."

"I don't think we're going to find many interesting things today . . . "

"Sure we are. You're just not awesome enough to see that yet." He smirked. "You're getting there, though."

Matt decided to change the subject. "Where's Gilbird?" he asked, noticing that the chick wasn't sitting on his head as he usually did.

The Prussian paused. "Good question." He stopped to think for a moment, and Matthew watched him as he furrowed his brow in concentration. After a second, he seemed to remember, and reached around to pull the chick out of his back pocket. He held him up triumphantly. "There you are!" And he placed him back onto his head, where he belonged.

Matt raised an eyebrow. Had Gilbird been in his pocket while he was sitting in the meeting room? If that was so, it was a wonder he hadn't been squished into a chicken pancake. Not like Gil was fat or anything. In fact, he was rather -

The older boy interrupted his thoughts when he grabbed his hand. He began dragging him down the corridor with an excited look.

"Gilbert, what - ?"

The albino pointed his camera down the hall, and Matthew saw it. There was Feliciano and Ludwig, the Italian hugging him tightly while the German appeared to have a bloody nose.

A click went off, and Gil looked back at his companion with a smile. He had found what he'd been looking for. "See," he said. "I told you we'd find something interesting!"

* * *

Feliciano had been chasing the soccer ball down the corridor. It was lunchtime, so the halls were mostly empty and relatively safe to play in; though it was against school rules to do so. Then again, Feliciano didn't exactly mind the rules, or a lot of things for that matter. The ball kept rolling down the hall.

"Vee~ Come back here~!" Feliciano was just about to retrieve the ball when it rolled to a stop at the end of the corridor. Ludwig had stepped out from a corner and blocked it with his foot.

"Oh, hi Doitsu!" The Italian looked up at his friend with a sunny smile, blinking. "I was just playing soccer. The season is almost over, you know~"

"Vargas," Ludwig said, looking away. His brown eyes really were too cute. "It's against the rules to play soccer inside the school. You know that."

The Italian just continued smiling and bent to pick up his soccer ball. "How many times have I told you, I'm _Feliciano_, Doitsu." Ludwig had no idea what 'Doitsu' meant, but he'd go along with it. "And don't be such a stick-in-the-mud!"

"You're starting to sound like my brother," Ludwig grumbled as Feliciano began bouncing the ball off his knees. "He's a bad influence on you. On everyone, actually."

Feliciano ignored his words. He took a step back, holding the ball. "Vee~ Doitsu, watch this!"

'Doitsu' stood back as the Vargas boy began walking down the corridor with the ball in his hands.

"Feliciano, what - "

"I'm gonna get it in that trashcan!" Feliciano said, looking pointedly at an open bin sitting at the very end of the hall. From the beginning of the corridor – where Feliciano was approaching – it was a good seventy yards. Ludwig didn't doubt that he could kick that far. But knowing Feliciano – even though he was a star player – indoors he'd probably end up breaking a window or something. He sighed as the Italian stopped at the opposite end of the hallway, holding the ball in front of him.

"Ready, Doitsu~?"

Ludwig just folded his arms across his chest. Without waiting for a reply, Feliciano put the ball in position and kicked. It sailed through the air, down the hall . . .

. . . And Ludwig didn't have time to move before it collided with his face.

It must have gone the wrong way. Feliciano had a delayed reaction at the sight of Ludwig clutching his (probably bloodied) nose. After a moment, though, he gasped dramatically and ran down the hall at the speed of lightning.

"DOITSUUU!" the boy wailed. Once he was in range, he tackled Ludwig with what was supposed to be an apologetic hug; Ludwig let out an 'oof,' still covering his nose. "Did I hurt you? Are you OK? Please don't die on me, Doitsu! I take back the stick thing!" He said all this very fast. "I can call you an ambulance! And please don't be mad~ I love you, Ludwig!"

Ludwig turned red from the love confession – and the fact that Feliciano was hugging him so tightly around the neck that it was concentrating the blood in his head. "F-Feliciano," he croaked. The brown-haired boy didn't seem to hear him; he was sobbing too loudly into Ludwig's chest. "F-Feliciano, y-you're choking me!"

A click and a flash finally seemed to snap the the boy out of his imminent psychological breakdown. The Italian and the German looked over to find Gilbert standing before them, a digital camera in his hands, his finger poised on the shutter. Matthew stood behind him, looking thoroughly uncomfortable and like he wanted to disappear.

"I told you we'd find something interesting!" he said to the other.

"Vee~ Hello, Doitsu's brother!" Feliciano relinquished his grip on Ludwig to wave at Gilbert. Smiling, Gilbert waved back. Meanwhile, Ludwig took his first breath in the past minute.

"_Brueder_," he said dangerously. Gil's smile faltered as Ludwig stepped closer to him and held out his hand. "Give me the camera."

Gilbert and Matthew took a step back. "No way, Bro," Gil said, holding his camera close to him. Ludwig's expression didn't change as he advanced upon the two.

"Gilbert," Matthew whined. The angry German was rather scary. He hoped Feliciano would distract him somehow, but he proved to be useless, staring off into space and humming. "Just delete the picture or give him the camera, or something!"

Gilbert looked back at him and a smirk crossed his face. "We don't give him the camera," he said, taking his hand as he did before. "We run!"

* * *

Translation (German)

Brueder = Brother (I think I spelled that right?)

**A/N:** Ahhh, this took longer than expected to get out. But I had fun writing it. And thanks to everyone who is still reading, I luff you all :D

As for the question last chapter, A Bleach-Drinking Hetalian was the only one who took a guess. (It was, indeed, one of Gilbert's lines.) Yay for people who get my geekery! __

In the next installment, our two favourite characters get stuck in an elevator together . . . and Alfred's part of the whole deal is revealed. Maybe. Guh, I really need to write some chapters in advance . . .


	9. A Note From The Author

**15 April, 2010**

**Thursday, 10:40 P.M.  
**

Dear Readers:

First off, I apologize for the author's note when you were expecting a new chapter. I hate seeing these things too, trust me.

Secondly, I apologize for taking so long to update, especially to TheLadyGrey and TheEvilMuffinToaster, who I had promised a relatively quick update.

Come tomorrow morning I am going out of town to attend my grandfather's funeral, and I won't be back until Monday. I most likely won't have Internet access at this time either.

The next chapter is partially finished, and I'm aiming to have it out before the end of next week. But I'm not making any promises (we've all seen how that turned out).

I will most likely delete this chapter once I have the real one ready.

Until then, take care.

I thank you for your understanding.

**- Kam (aka TheCanadianConspiracy)**


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